


Don't Go Near the Crow

by gizka



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst, Bisexual Finn, Hate Sex, Mild Blackmailing, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Secret transaction, past underage relationship, warming beds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25648189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gizka/pseuds/gizka
Summary: She approached Ben under the shade of the old beech tree one very hot afternoon-with a proposition.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

She approached Ben under the shade of the old beech tree one very hot afternoon.

It was just after the Easter holidays, with the blistering sun reared high above them and the spring air buzzing with early cicadas, the beech sweeping over the wet banks of the Black Lake. It was namely deserted ground. Ben Solo had doubted that any half-wit would willingly walk around the width of the lake to come here, for there were only cattail, pickerelweed, and muskrat to be found for miles. Hux and Phasma had refused to traipse through any sort of mush and swamp; Mitaka was too much of a wimp to leave immediate Hogwarts grounds.

He remembered how Tai had told him once, about the time he had wandered and fooled around near the edge, until he got too close and was dragged into the murky depths of the lake. He had said he’d seen the shy creatures that inhabited its waters, and how their skin glistened like silver eels and their ears long and pear-shaped-just like Ben’s.

Her shadow casted over him bent over his book, long and imminent.

Ben looked up. It was a strange sight, how he was looking up at her and how she stood standing in front of him. It seemed a vital thing for Ben at the moment to understand that he hadn’t conjured her up in the haziness of the heat.

It would be comical if he’d pinched himself. Instead, he settled for blinking-a good, slow, hard blink-and yet, she did not flicker and dwindle into the mound of bulrushes. She stood over him-blunt and quite lifelike. Frowning, too, as if she were deciding whether he was worth the hassle of following him up to this desolate strip of land.

“Rey Niima.” He nodded, mouthing the words carefully. This would be the first time Ben would speak her name out loud. The inexplicable, ridiculous feud between their two houses was good enough reason for the typical Gryffindor to deem him the last person to ever bother to affiliate oneself with. And he knew the regular ilk she hung out with. Those vigilant, yapping lap dogs she called friends with that pompous, no-good Poe Dameron strutting about and crowning himself king of his own noble court. Their crowd existed in their separate circles for six years well enough for a reason.

However, she broke every unspoken pact between the two honorable Hogwarts houses the moment she came up to him and announced aloud, “Oh. I’d thought I’d find you here.”

“Oh?” Did he have to pretend he hadn’t seen her tailing him from a mile away? Well, he’d at least have to appreciate the effort on her part. Her shoes were rendered into a miserable mess, caked deep in muck and leaves-though he didn’t believe they were in a much better state before either. The girl was good as penniless for all Ben knew. Her drab second-hand school robes fell alarmingly short, revealing a good half of her ankles. He immediately averted his gaze elsewhere. “I guess I’d just imagined some bird following me here with nothing better to do.”

She looked down at him, unblinking. “I’d like to make an offer, Solo. A proposition.”

“You stalk me and come up out of the blue, and make me an offer?” What was this, some horrible prank courtesy of Dameron? Was this his way of getting back at him for hexing him and sending him off to Madame D’Acy days ago? This must be yet another plan to humiliate him, as if he hadn’t already had his fill for six years. Everyone would fall at his pretty feet whenever he’d passed by; who would dare step in the way of their glorified Quidditch hero? Hadn’t his own mother call him a brown-eyed belle?

Bloody Dameron with his devious, manipulative ways and his stupid, stupid hair.

Ben figured, with everyone so in love with him, even _she’d_ be loyal to do whatever he asks of her, with that blind, childlike devotion she seemed to have as a default. His eyes fell back to his book. “I barely know you.”

“You’d want to hear me out.”

“Please. I beg to differ.”

“You’d want to hear me out,” she parroted.

“No.”

“You’d-”

Ben snapped. “No. Is this some game you wish to play? Another nasty trick from you lot? I thought your glory days of mischief was behind you and your petty friends.”

“No,” she said slowly. She looked at him as if _he_ were the one making this difficult. “No. This isn’t a game.”

“Then,” he paused, willing himself to be patient, “what is it?”

She was silent. Among her ragtag band of misfits, she would be the quiet one. Blending herself with the others, staying out of general trouble. Shying away from any act that might draw too much attention. Over the years, Ben has had an earful of what the students and staff had whispered behind her-the poor Muggle-born orphan from who-knows-where in London, with her mystical benefactor and her even mystical family roots. A pitiful child, with no real connections.

But Ben knew better. For he was not easily led by such deception or falsehood. He could see right through her, her poor little heart, as easy as slicing through pie. Her façade of false naivety. The core of her ill-bred nature. There was something depraved and vile rooted deep inside her, something that no one but Ben was able to notice.

She opened her mouth to speak. But a swarm of cicadas chose the moment to hum noisily over their heads.

He could hear the roll of the cattails as they scattered flat. “I believe I don’t hear a thing,” Ben mocked quietly, but his words were lost in the midst as well. A sweet, sticky scent was picked up by a lone wind, and he found himself leaning forward. Placing his book on the tree roots beneath him.

She took a hesitant step forward. Ben glanced down as her filthy pair of shoes met his on the gravelly earth. Then suddenly she was crouching, stooping low to level with him. At the abrupt proximity, he tried not to flinch or make a grab for his wand. She was too close. Her bright eyes reflected back at him, brown rimmed with forest green.

This time, Rey spoke again carefully.

“I said that I know what you do every night. And the very, very inappropriate things you’ve been doing. So, as I’ve said earlier, I would like to make an offer.”

-

He would never knew how it began.

A reckless past-time that had begun before Christmas eve. A night traded for a few Galleons in exchange for sweet murmurs in the dark and warm, soft bodies pulling him underneath. All it had took Ben were a few notes passed through Divinations and the right spells to slip unnoticed past the prefects’ night rounds.

Why? He would never know the answer to that either. Perhaps it was for plain amusement. Perhaps it was that dawning sense of tediousness that had crept up on his final years in Hogwarts. Perhaps it was when the nightmares came back to him, at the beginning of the year, and he would lie awake blinking at the ceiling till half six wondering when the dark will recede. Or it could’ve been his mother, or Han. Luke. Luke would definitely be high on his list.

There wasn’t that many girls he had warmed beds for. But, how many? Enough to get into _her_ ears apparently. It was inevitable that there must’ve been some sort of rumor that had made way within school grounds, along with the other common gossip that encircled him like hawks waiting upon easy pickings. But Ben knew he had been careful. Very discreet.

He waited outside the greenhouse tower. As the afternoon class trickled out one by one, he cornered her quickly before she got the chance to scuttle off. “Are you blackmailing me?”

She seemed fairly unperturbed by his sudden ambush. Unlike him, who was trying not to appear restless. And he wasn't, in the least. “I’m not blackmailing you.” Some of the students flinched when they accidently caught his eye. There was no need to announce the whole school that he’d dismissed himself in Charms and been hovering here outside for nearly an hour. But he stubbornly stood rooted by the entrance, blocking any possible way of escape.

He saw one of her friends-the mousy one with the grim, disapproving frown-eyeing them apprehensively from a distance. She shooed her away.

“Well, I don’t see why you haven’t,” he hissed, once they were out of earshot. “When you’re clearly holding something against the other, and threatening them in back-alleys.”

She looked at him. “I wasn’t threatening you.”

She was adept at pulling off an innocent, guileless face-but Ben wasn’t one easily fooled. “Are you planning on telling Skywalker?” If someone would try to get at him, they’d know where to turn. He remembered how Luke had called him into his dingy office a week ago, offering him sugar biscuits and lemon-drops with his genial easiness, asking how Ben was faring off and why hasn’t he written to his mother since Christmas? Luke wouldn’t hesitate to write to his sister in her New York office once he knew what his nephew has been doing past bedtime.

He stood, with rage simmering from down below, as she dawdled on her answer. She must’ve been waiting for this opportunity to jump on him for so long. Bidding her time to prey upon the right moment. He wouldn’t care. Let her do it. Let her to skitter off to fucking Skywalker and list all the wrongdoings he has committed for the past year and so. He reckoned it would be reasonable excuse to get him expelled. Banished from Hogwarts grounds for good.

“No.”

“No?” What does she mean by _no_? Ben crowded her so she has to look further up. His temper was something short-lived. He’s had enough of this. This twisted, ugly way she was playing him on the palm of her hand. He wanted to slam his fist on the wooden pillars behind them. Kick the hideous Mandrake pot squatting in the corner. He almost did, but he didn’t want to risk being knocked out cold by the blood-curling shrieks of a sentient-plant infant. He tried to calm his boiling head. This time, he will have the upper hand. This time, he won’t allow this-this _nobody_ to rattle him a second round.

“What do you want from me?”

Later, this would be a moment Ben would replay in his four-poster bed over and over for a fortnight. Questioning everything that he has done, the correlating chain of events that had led up to this particular moment.

Her following response was spoken in the most brisk, chore-like manner that Ben almost imagined she hadn’t said it. “Come to me, at night.”

“What?” No, he mustn’t have heard her right.

“I want-,” she paused. Her voice was heard barely over his own breathing. “I want you to come to me, at night. To my bed.”

She then supplied quietly. “Just like those girls you’ve warmed beds for.”

As if he hadn’t already understood what she was implying.

Ben looked at her as if she had sprouted a second head before his eyes.

“No. Absolutely not.”

Then turned away. He couldn’t have left more faster than he did right then.

-

“Why is Solo looking this way?” Poe exclaimed.

Finn wouldn’t know. He had been watching their table for quite a while now, with a glaring turn of his mouth, but he wasn’t staring at _him_. It wasn’t just Solo stealing glances from the Slytherin table, but Hux, too; waving his butter knife with a smug look on his pasty face. But Hux would be Hux. He reckoned the weasel couldn’t bear pass the evening without looking down his nose at him and offering him a snide observation whenever he was on sight. Earlier in Potions, when Hux had hovered precariously by his cauldron, he had pressed the urge to tip his draught on his front robes. “Plotting your quick death no doubt,” Finn said. He tried not to feel uneasy with the way Poe draped his arm over his as he clambered into the seat next to him.

“Knob,” Poe grinned. “Pass me the jam, will you? Ah, never mind. _Accio_.” His knee bumped against his. He smelled faintly of firecrackers and liquorice. “Benny’s still gawking. Couldn’t get enough of this handsome mug, couldn’t he?”

He was thinking of how he could move closer to Tallie beside him. Then Rose pipped. “You should ask that to Rey.”

All eyes centered on Rey. He looked at Rose. How would she know that? Then again, who was he to doubt her? Rose’s smart and observant, she would know just about everything. Did she catch how Poe’s arm was briefly hooked over him, too? But Rose wasn’t looking at him as he was looking at her. So he looked at Rey, who was nose deep in her potatoes.

Snap coughed from across. Rey looked up from her plate at them, and blinked.

-

Ben found her at the library. She sat two seats away from the spot where he usually read and finished his homework. His face flushed. He needn’t bother to sit down. Or to be seen with her by an audience of curious onlookers.

“If word gets out,” he began, his voice very, very low. He had practiced the words on his walk here. So he could say what he intended to say in one, swift speech without faltering. It’d took him a night to think over everything that might go downhill. There hadn’t been much time for him to think; she could do anything, she could _say_ anything. He had calculated the odds. His were disastrous, and he’d come to the realization that he had more to lose. His lower lip trembled. “If somehow Skywalker hears about this, if _anyone_ hears about this-I’ll know it was you.” And he was thinking of another distant memory that he had pushed back to the recesses of his thoughts, stale and unbidden. He paused, suddenly realizing he’d forgotten the rest of his lines.

She put down her book and shot up.

“Half-past-eleven. Gryffindor portrait. Knock three times on the kitten bowl at the bottom corner. You know the usual night round routes. Don’t get caught.”

Then she left. The first two pages of her abandoned book fluttered with her nimble exit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare yourselves with late updates. Let me know if you need any HP or StarWars references.


	2. Chapter 2

There had been a time when the nightmares would be too much for him to bear.

He’d wake up in the middle of the night; gasping, his hair clamped with sweat, and he would shot up from his bed, scrambling frantically for the cord between reality and his own dream-trodden state. He would be pie-eyed with the overwhelming churn of emotions (there was anger, and fear; and he would not admit it but there was also the thrill, too). It’d made Ben want to bend over his bed and puke, which he’d done, several times.

Later, he would resist them if he could, stay awake in the dark, before the lure of sleep took over him. Sometimes, he’d go to Tai. Of course, he couldn’t tell him everything then, only selected parts of it, so he would let him understand and observe it with an even-handedness of a stranger. “Sometimes I don’t sleep at all, too” was all Tai would say, with a smile. His eyes are soft, and his boyish smile says _I’m happy you told me this_. Tai doesn’t offer him what to do, doesn’t counsel him to “kill your demons if you have to”, because he wasn’t Luke. Because he was Tai. Luke could never be Tai, but the two were alike in many ways, and it must’ve been why his uncle had loved him so dearly.

At half-past eleven, Ben found himself at the foot of the Gryffindor portrait.

Big, bulbous eyes blinked back at him. His head seized him in a halt, and for a moment, he stood there frozen, his mind racing over how he could’ve forgotten to pull on a sleeping charm on the portrait before she’d gotten the chance to notice him. Then followed a long, nasally snore.

It took him a second to realize the portrait slept with her eyes wide open. Her magnified eyes swiveled on their own accord, left, right, and around. He took a step back, then forth. Silence. The doorkeeper was a heavy sleeper. He looked to the right. Accompanying her, was a cat. It, too, much like it’s owner, had round, yellow eyes that shifted up and down. Unlike its owner, it was wide awake. It hissed at him like the devil’s spawn.

He’s done this countless times without any trouble. But he felt something twisted low in his stomach, his heart thumping too loudly in his ears. He should turn back right now.

“Quiet,” he snapped at the cat. It would be minutes from now till the prefects on duty will make their last rounds. The professors’ inspections will follow past midnight. He’ll be done and out by one; and he’ll wait by the door before the second rounds began. _Do what? Woo her, or scare her away?_

He knocked at the bottom right-right over the silver cat bowl faced down in the corner.

The portrait swung open. Rey stood there in the dim commonroom. The fireplace cackled behind her, and it almost looked welcoming, her backside lit with its warm light. But looking back at her-the mere sight of her was infuriating. It ignited all the anger and hatred buried deep within, and-something else. His gaze traveled down. Her school skirt, he noted, still stopped short. He heard footsteps far away, but not too far.

“What are you waiting for?” he said harshly. “Are you going to let me in or not?”

She took one long look at Ben, and pulled him in.

-

“When is Poe coming?” Rose shifted in her crouched position. “My legs are cramped. My feet hurts. And I smell mold. We can’t possibly do this all night.” A lone ghost drifted by their corridor, and they were hiding behind the rows of silver armor, so they held their breaths. She whispered. “I thought he’d gone to plant the damn thing by the door, not grow it out of thin air.”

That was what Finn had thought, too. Poe had said that, with his clever handywork, he could set up the ‘surprise’ by the Slytherin entrance before they could say Barnabas the Barmy, but it’s been half-an-hour and he and Rose were still trapped in their rendezvous spot. “You know how he gets excited over Stink Pellets. Bloke’s probably over-elated he can’t help himself.”

“I thought it was just Nose-Biting Teacups!”

“He bought the lot in bulks at Zonko’s last week,” he explained. “You know Poe, he reckons he never gets too old for a good prank.” He shuffled awkwardly in his spot, then moved over to the side to give her more room. He took a quick glimpse at his crooked pocket watch. “Bet he’ll be here soon.”

They waited for another twenty-minutes. The first floor corridors were deserted except for the occasional ghosts that hobbled by. Everything was in absolute silence except for the breezy draft that drifted from the high windows. Finn couldn’t recall when they’ve last slipped away past midnight; huddled together in a corner, he felt he was back in his first-year of Hogwarts, the four of them, him, Rey, Rose and Poe sneaking into empty broom-cupboards and wandering into the elves’ kitchen for cake and sandwiches in the middle of the night. “Where’s Rey? Haven’t seen a single hair of her since supper.”

“Gone to bed early.” Rose frowned. “Said she felt queasy. A bad stomach, perhaps? She’s been very pale lately.”

There was a place between her eyebrows that scrunched up, whenever she was upset or was intently focused on something, her nose twitching at the same time. Her shoes tapped distractedly. He knew how much Rose worried about Rey, and how much she cared for her. Just as much as he did, as well Poe. But Rose had always been the most protective one of them all. While Finn was more careful and cautious, Rose would be the fierce defender, the one to barrel through anything without hesitance.

Rose has an older sister-five-years apart, graduated from Hogwarts and probably trekking in the tropics of East Timor. He’s seen pictures of her because Rose loved showing them her family pictures-a family which consisted of her and Paige-and by the way her eyes would shine and her voice drop into a wistful tone, he would then partially understand where her stubborn sense of protectiveness stemmed from. Finn wouldn’t know the first thing of what having a family was like but he could feel its force and love and all the longing through Rose.

It would be understandable that Rey must’ve reminded her sister. Rey might as well as be his own family, he would do anything to keep her close, make her feel safe. But he couldn’t help the small, betraying, guilty part of him feeling a twisted sense of jealousy.

Finn sneaked a look at Rose. She was still glaring murderously at the floor.

“Hope Poe doesn’t go too hard with the stuff,” he blurted.

“What?”

“The Stink Pellets. Hux can’t handle the smell.” He shrugged. “He faints.”

Rose’s head shot up. And she giggled, then she covered her face with wide eyes and a snort slipped out. Her whole body vibrated with her laugh, and instantly it warmed him, to have lifted her up from her worries, even for a brief moment. Her small arm brushed against his. Her arm was round, and her skin soft. There was the little scar on her right hand, the one she’d gotten last year when Bee-Bee had scratched at her with her claws. Suddenly, Finn wanted to touch the bruise, brush his thumb over it, and cover it with the palm of his hand.

He stood up. “I’ll sneak around to see if anyone’s coming this way. Stay here for a while.”

He stepped out from behind the clunk of armor. He didn’t go far, but he took an efficient look around. It’s been nearly an hour and Poe hasn’t yet showed up. Had he got caught by Ackbar patrolling tonight? Then, Finn caught a movement outside from one of the windows. He stepped closer. It was pitch dark out, but he could see the school grounds from the flooding lights spilling from within the castle. He had the whole view of the sloping hills, and the vegetable patches, and the vast Black Lake.

He also saw a hurried figure headed in the direction of the woods. It whipped its head back, as if afraid there was something sinister following behind it.

Finn slipped away from the window. His hand twitched, his heartbeat abruptly fitful and erratic. He could recognize bloody Mitaka from anywhere-his pasty, awkward figure and his floundering trot. And he knew where he was going. He could also probably figure why.

-

Ben stood by the staircase that led up to the girls’ dormitory. He swallowed thickly, before muttering low and quick, wand pointed at his feet.

It took several tries to get the spell right; his tongue was tied, his mind muddled, but there was no reason to be flustered at all. When he was done, he stepped up the stairs. She trailed him dutifully from behind. Rey didn’t question him about how he could get pass the school’s protection charms over the girls’ dorms, and he didn’t have a mind to tell her, either.

Her bedroom was like any other girl’s rooms he’d visited. The familiar structure. The telltale snores in the dark. Suddenly, she was sitting on the far edge of her bed, staring at him. He remembered the first time he’d seen her was in a bleak, grey mugshot in the corner page of the Daily Prophet.

“Why are you standing?” Her voice was small, as if not to wake her sleeping bedmates. But there was a hint of impatience that he did not like. It was as if she were convinced that he would stand there at the foot of the bed for the rest of the night, dragging on his heels on what would come, and what would have to be done, inevitably.

The bed dipped as he kneeled on it. It creaked quietly.

“Shoes?” she muttered.

Glaring daggers at her, Ben placed them carefully, side-by-side under the bed. He can’t help feeling stupid because, of course, even in this moment old habits die hard. He discovered, under the bed, the left pair of her worn shoes he’d seen at the Black Lake-rubbed cleaned but still filthy at the bottom. The other pair was nowhere in sight; the underside of her bed was a damn pigsty. He drew the curtains over the bed. Before it was draped around them, he noticed the bed in the far right had an odd little lump-or was it empty? “ _Silencio_.”

No one would hear them now. He turned to her. Her eyes were chasing his movements, as a cat would on a canary, while pressing herself closely to the head of her four-poster. She looked less terrifying now in her small bed, than when he’d found her waiting for him in the library. What was she planning to do this time? Where was her bravado now?

Then, Ben was knocked over.

His arms lay splayed on the bed, as he looked up at her. His blood pumped high, his head overcome with dizziness and nausea that he could hardly take notice to. Rey’s face loomed over him. Her breathes came short and rapid, warming his nose and his mouth. Her hands gripped him above his chest like hooks, her wiry legs bracketing his upper torso. She might as well feel his heartbeat beating like drums under them.

In his peripheral sight, her little skirt was bunched up, revealing an inch of her bare leg above her white stockings. She moved above him, frowning, as if she found herself in an uncomfortable position, and she wanted to right herself. Her awkward squirming caused her to rub him beneath, her feet roughly grazing his legs. He jerked up in a futile attempt.

Then she was scrambling away, backing off of him, as well as her hands, acting though as if she were burnt; his body was in shock to be capable of doing anything or say anything, only to lay there frigidly. He wondered if her bedmates heard the frantic, almost desperate movement of her distancing herself away from him. Their labored pants were the only sounds that echoed in the dark.

“I’m sorry.” She didn’t look like she was. “I’m sorry.” She fidgeted in her corner, her mouth opening and shutting, until she said, “…take off your clothes?”

She said it as if it were a timid request, but it could’ve been more or less an order. Her careless brazenness was appalling that Ben snapped his head up. “No,” he croaked. His voice sounded wrong, brittle and coarse. “ _Take off yours.”_

It wasn’t as if he wanted to see her bare before him. No. That would be the last thing he’d want. But he would rather jump out the school window than be the one vulnerable and out in the open.

She didn’t move.

So, it was his turn to set matters forth.

Ben shifted himself up. And slowly crawled towards her. He felt leaden, his body too big for the bed, too drunk on its hefty clumsiness. The distance was barely there. His hand brushed the soft material of her cardigan. Her neck looked slight in the bedside lamplight. But he didn’t touch it. “Take this off,” he said again.

Her hands that had stayed clasped at her sides jumped to the hem of her blouse. Then fiddled it, hesitantly. He was hunched over her, and he stared at that hand, his chest heaving. Her breathes had again turned sharp, uneven. She looked up at him, and stopped altogether.

He then saw how she trembled under him.

He was reminded how Han had used to joke how Ben, when he was younger, have always been too sensitive for his own skin. He imagined him saying to his mother, "The kid's sweet as pie, but too soft for any trouble." He now questioned if he were dwelling on his own speculations too much, if he were overthinking, like he always did.

But somehow he knew he was right, and it wasn’t hard for him to put two and two together. That Ben had to let out a laugh, cold and empty, and back away from her, and the bed.

He spoke aloud, and it was not a question. “You’ve never done this before.”

  
-

  
He heard Poe stagger into their dorm. It had been too late that he and Rose had to creep back into their commonroom before someone spotted them. They could’ve waited, but Finn had trusted Poe would wind his way out if he needed to.

He bustled about in the dark. Stepping on multiple things and unbothered with making loud, annoying noises as he stomped carelessly around. Finn laid in his bed on his side. He knew he wouldn’t be able to fall sleep till he knew Poe was back. But he laid there in the dark, pretending he’d already hit the sack. He doesn’t ask Poe, “ _Where have you been?”_ He doesn’t tell him that he had seen Mitaka slip into the Forbidden Forrest. He doesn't tell him that he had seen him and yet he hadn't told anyone. And that he was afraid.

“You awake?”

He felt Poe hovering above him by his side. But he stayed stock-still. He knew he was a bad actor, and he wouldn’t be able to hide anything from anyone, especially Poe. But it was late, and dark. Poe would know that his eyes were closed, and hear his controlled, even breathes.

He lingered. Then he heard the rustle of sheets as his were pulled over him from below his hips. He heard as Poe ambled away, and flopped back to his bed in his corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ben traipses into forbidden territory, Finn and Rose are dragged onto one of Poe's whims.


	3. Chapter 3

“Podric Batworthy.”

“Wilfred Elphick.”

“Flavius Belby.”

“No,” said Finn. “It’s the Fat Friar.”

“Fat Friar?” Poe grinned. “Isn’t he the bloke who claimed he was allergic to roasted peasants at dinner the other night?”

“You’re all wrong! The answer’s Herpo the Foul. Born in Ancient Greek, progenitor of the Basilisk, known Parselmouth, the lot.” Rose shut her copy of _A History of Magic_ soundly, shaking her head. “The Fat Friar’s the Hufflepuff ghost, and was executed for trying to cure pox by poking a peasant.”

“Told you so,” said Poe gleefully.

“Toerag.”

“Birdbrain.”

“Wanker.”

“Sod this,” he grumbled miserably, flopping to the ground, at the same time Poe demanded loud and distractedly, to no one in particular, “Has anyone read this season’s catalogue for _Witches Weekly_? No? No? Not even the section for dragon-skin cloaks? If you haven’t, you’re missing out on the good stuff, Rosie.”

The four of them laid sprawled around the old yew stump, textbooks thrown aside. Poe had charmed his tie so it swung midair, inches from Bee-Bee’s frantic orange claws, while Rose cooed at his every mewl and chatter. The Hogwarts castle stretched before them, and Finn watched students running in their cloaks from one end of the corridor to another.

He’ll sorely miss this, Finn thought. Years from now, when they’ll all leave this place, this would be the moment that he would look back and mourn its fleetingness. He had once believed that there were simply moments in time that would last forever, with all its luminosity and glory that clung and simply refused to fade. And some part of him still did, desperately wanting to believe in this sheltered world of absentminded easiness and contentment.

“Oi.” Poe was looking down at him. The wind ruffled his mussed curls. “I asked if you fancy going to Hogsmeade this week.”

“Sure,” he said. He briefly glanced over at Rose, who was clapping at Bee-Bee batting at a swarm of dragonflies, Rey watching intently. “If I somehow manage to live through eleven pages of Holdo’s Transfigurations essay.”

“Merlin’s arse,” he groaned. “That this week?”

“You better be starting now, or Holdo will be eating your bloody ear out on your dreadful lack of competence.”

“Oh, Finny. Don’t you worry. You know the old bat favors me more than she lets on.” Then, “We might as well go after. We’ll need some clear air after locking ourselves down in all that dust and all, or else we’ll reek like a pair of swots.”

“Why not? We might as well sip tea and nibble cakes at Puddiefoot’s.”

“Brilliant.” Poe smiled, before turning away.

He sometimes wondered if they knew what he had done, the things he had done the past year, they’ll be willing to treat him the same. He wondered if he ever deserved anything, if he’ll ever be forgiven; whether there’ll be a place for him, still, after they knew that he’d changed forever, tainted and filthy.

This was all but a fleeting moment, Finn told himself. He’ll be holding on to it as long as he could. And before he knows it, it’ll be snatched from his hands like it had never been his to keep in the first place.

-

She found him after third period, again, at the library.

Ben had expected this, of course. He had also expected a couple amount of other things as well. Such as that his poor attempts of making himself scarce after that particular night, was indeed a very poorly attempt. Or that she had an unsettling deftness for locating his whereabouts. And that she wouldn’t be there to bid him goodbye and head on her merry way out of his miserable little life.

Her soundless, abrupt appearances by his side now was the least mind-boggling occurrence on his list. However, foreseeing things didn’t made one any more prepared for the matter.

“You haven’t kept your end of our agreement. I want you to meet me again.”

“No,” Ben said. He didn’t bother looking up from his text. “I haven’t. Because there was no such _agreement_ between us.”

A stifling silence followed.

“We do have an agreement.” It seemed like she was furious. Or did she sound a bit desperate as well? He had to laugh at that. “I have something you wish to keep a secret.”

“And I highly value your confidence.”

“You’ve had your fun with girls just fine.” She added quietly, “or were there boys, too?”

No. There hadn’t been. But, then again, he didn’t owe her an answer.

“Why is this any different?” Her voice quivered slightly. It was then that he looked up at her.

“Why is this different? It’s _every way different_ , and I reckon you’re well aware of that.”

“No. I’m not aware.”

“ _Of course_ , you do,” he spat.

“No. I don’t,” she repeated, as if she truly didn’t know. This distracted him, forcing him to take in the cardigan she was wearing, the same thing she’d worn from three nights ago. Worn, threadbare, the one he’d felt under his fingers; the one he had wanted to tug and pull and strip clear from its place.

He let out a frustrated growl. “I don’t want to touch a-”, then stopped himself. The Victorian lady portrait above them in a saffron colored frock averted its gaze from them, suddenly taking great interest in the vacant air elsewhere. There were curious glimpses here and there, their looks asking _What business does he have with her?_

 _Mudblood_ , he had once heard them whisper before. He retreated back.

“Ask me anything else I could do to keep your mouth sealed,” he said finally, returning to his book. He had gripped it too hard; a few pages were crumpled under. So he flipped to the next. “Anything else. Because believe me when I say I won’t go crawling into your bed anytime soon, or ever again.”

-

He will later realize his mistake.

That to expect that she would give up so easily, to walk away and be back to ignoring him as if he were a dull toy that had somehow failed to secure her attention, he truly would be a fool.

However, it would be too late for Ben to discover beforehand that she had planned a punishment for him.

“The key to concocting the Oculus Potion,” began Professor Greer in a dragging drawl, “is in the brewer’s punctilious measurement. One must strive to seek precision in each element: an artful picking of wormwood, a scrupulous dose of crystalized water, the even grounding of the unicorn horn. It is a brew of a sort that requires a delicate hand, so I’d suggest-no mucking about. And I’m addressing this exceedingly elementary warning to _you_ in particular, Mr. Dameron.”

Only one half side of the Potions classroom abrupted into laughter, and he observed sourly as Dameron’s slim face tugged into corners to form his usual smug, self-satisfied face. He swiveled from his seat and caught Ben’s eye. He waved, followed by a series of uncreatively absurd gestures conjured under his desk. Hux scowled beside him, while Mitaka chuckled nervously and bit his nails. Poe seemed to enjoy himself immensely, looking snug and secure among his ring of Gryffindor friends, all of whom Ben came to learn were the same breed of unintelligent, brash, and vulgar.

Rey sat among them-quiet and unnoticeable as usual-but not sparing him a single look.

Had she forgotten their tiff completely, or was this simply an extension of her ploy as well? Now he was the one with an invisible string attached, and very much like a bounded puppet, left otherwise powerless in the gravity of an unbidden urge to seek her out, stealing glances at her every now and then.

“Now I’m giving you all half-an-hour to present. The clock ticks, as we speak.”

The classroom scrambled as one; brass scales clinking, cauldrons boiling, students dashing frenziedly to the cupboards. When he ladled his pile of ingredients and stepped between the flurry of movement, Dameron materialized by his side, almost tripping him, and commented delightfully, “Hope that Mandrake root find its way into the pot and not that beak nose of yours, Benny.”

He had once convinced himself that he’d grown tolerant in the face of Poe’s swaggering, cocksure attempts to get a rise out of him. Someday, he told himself as he sweated hotly in front of his cauldron, he’ll learn not to take the bait, nor be caught up in his usual childish nonsense. He will also look forward to spending the remainder of the year daydreaming about dunking the bastard in the prefect’s bathtub with a ten-pound ghoul wrapped around his neck.

He looked up.

And noticed Rey looking at something beyond the classroom, out the window, and, of course, he turned to look, too.

“Where you looking, Solo?” Hux asked snidely.

Then there was a sharp, piercing shatter of cauldron hitting the floor.

He whipped around to see the horror-stricken faces of students as they stilled at once. The small, short-cropped Gryffindor he’d seen outside the Herbology tower, Rose Tico, has her body lurched forward, petrified. A cauldron rolled abandoned on the floor, as hissing, simmering dark liquid spilled out in the open.

Rey stood by it with her face blank. She stared down as her bare hands welled with angry purple welts. He heard Mitaka made a faint whimpering noise in the corner.

In a wink of an eye, Professor Greer swept in, swiftly flicking her wand and the leaked contents of the cauldron vanished; from the floor, her clothes, her stockings. The professor grabbed her shoulders, tilted her chin, and demanded, “Miss Niima, I would advise to open your mouth right away and take this before this becomes more of an ugly mess.” She popped a bezoar in Rey’s open mouth. She swallowed it, calmly. She didn't even make a sound.

“Professor Greer. May I be of assistance?”

Luke strolled in, taking in the scene before him. His blue eyes swept around the room. But he doesn't look at Ben. He felt his blood slowly broil inside.

“Ah. Professor Skywalker. I believe we've been experiencing an unfortunate accident here with one of our students.”

“And I guess it is most fortunate that I just happen to pass by.” Luke nodded at Rey. “I must insist that I take Miss Niima to Madame D’Acy directly.”

“I thank you, Professor Skywalker. Tell Madame D'Acy that she took an antitoxin right away, so no critical medicament would be required.”

“The rest of you shall resume,” she barked, turning back to them. “Those who’ve performed poorly will be the next unlucky lamb sent to the hospital wing.” Then, walking to her desk while muttering to herself, “I can’t believe anyone’d be foolish enough to confuse wormwood for bloodroot.”

Ben watched as Rey was taken out of the classroom.

He watched as she turned her head to look straight at him.

He lied awake that night.

When he surrendered into a halfhearted slumber, there were no recurrent dreams, hence the usual nighttime visitor slinked away into the outskirts of his consciousness.

Instead in his dreams, Rey appeared. She was ushered by Luke, walking down a long, dark hall. She leaned into to whisper something into his ear, and Luke would turn to him. Before he could speak, Luke disappeared and she was standing before Ben, shoving her hands for his close inspection. Her hands were monsterous things: red, blotchy, and marred. But, instead of backing away, he held out his own to reach for them.

Then she laid perched on the edge of his bed. She twisted to lift her skirt up, baring her sweet, pliant body to him.

-

Finn headed back to his common room after dinner. He had his foot long Divinations essay due first thing in the morning and he only got it halfway done. He avoided the place by the fireplace and found a corner in which he laid his books about, and after some fiddling with the radio, tuned in the Wireless.

There was news of a Ministry employee celebrating her 102nd birthday in Ivory Coast; a commercial for Sleekeazy's Hair Potion and Scalp Treatment. He didn’t dare listen to the Muggle station where the others might notice. That was something he did alone, or with Rey. But, Rey was in the hospital wing, with Rose by her side. He wondered if Rose would want to listen with him, later, tomorrow night maybe, if he asked her.

Then, Poe burst in from the open portrait with a giggling pretty fifth-year.

She noticed him. “Oh, sorry, Finn!” Then erupted into another fitful of giggling.

Poe grinned at Finn for a long second, his dark eyes boring into his, then saluted tipsily, his arms around the girl as he ambled away out of his sight.

-

He stood by the Gryffindor entrance at half-past-eleven. When the portrait opened, Rey stood waiting for him, as if she somehow knew he would be on the other side all along. She didn't bother to hide her bandaged hands behind her. But there was a brief moment of uncertainty in her movement; she fidgeted restlessly in her spot, before she stopped.

“Are you coming in?” she asked.

"I might as well, shouldn't I?" His voice echoed hollowly in the deserted corridor.

She moved aside. The portrait closed shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finn is stuck in his contemplations, Poe flirts in his own intolerable way left and right, Rey takes certain measures.


End file.
